All Roads Lead to San Francisco
by Al Sagayn
Summary: Dukat escapes from the Fire Caves to stop the Prophets from using their power to collaborate with a bloated collectivist Federation. Also subtitled The Fall of the Federation. Kira Dukat involvement later in the story, new characters, some old characters.


All Roads Lead to San Francisco

PG13---Dukat/Kira

---The tale of the fall of the Federation, first great Empire of the Alpha Quadrant---

by Al Sagayn

Part One

Characters featured in Part One include:

Alaim Dukat

Jake Sisko

Commander Kira

There have been many 'names' of Dukat flown about---jokingly 'Elmo,' 'Skrain' in the book series, so I have decided to pick a respectable name that sounds Cardassian but also gives credit to the man who really made Dukat's character great---Marc Alaimo, the actor who played him in the television series.

DISCLAIMER: Whomever currently finds him/herself at the helm of the vast Star Trek Empire is technically the owner of the some of the characters/technology I employ, and environment in which the latter finds itself. However, the story is mine.

As a note, I do not currently read nor have ever read any of the books that accompany the Star Trek series, so whatever points they bring up which are not brought up in the various television series I will not be aware of and do not incorporate into my stories.

Also, I am not an expert on the finer details of culture in the 25th century and DS9 like who the current favorite philosopher is on Earth or Bajor, so forgive me if I fill in a few already-filled details with my own imaginative flair. I'm hoping the larger points of contention are agreed upon, and would welcome any corrections that come may way (be they technical and not philosophical---I'm not expecting everyone to agree with my philosophy or with the way my story progresses).

_This story takes place one year after the series finale "What You Leave Behind, Part 2." _

Chapter 1

THE FIRE CAVES OR HELL, WHERE THEY'VE DEEMED HE BELONGS

_Mental Journal of Alaim Dukat_

Down in the deeps, the flames are not simply chemical reactions, organic matter turning into carbon while consuming oxygen. They aren't the flames of the Plane of reality mortals are accustomed to---merciful flames, that while first feasting on flesh quickly release their victim into the blissful anonymity of death and the Beyond which he believes to be the Celestial Temple, or Heaven, or new life on the Plane; neither are they the beautiful, peaceful vistages which lull the mind of a savage to the sleep of safety beyond the reach of predators, and the mind of a poet to make it into something much more than nature would have it be.

The flames of the Fire Caves are ideas, memories, and what a certain immortal species would call justice. My only mistake was believing that these creatures were gods and not the never-dying equivalent of politicians; else I may not have ever found myself thrown, by my own flawed reason, into these flames which at times show past truths, and other times judge.

The Pah-Wraith is what the name implies: a wraith, being constantly reduced to skeletal proportions by the insatiable hunger of a Prophet's need for domination and evidence of the righteousness of their religious system. He is part of the untouchable caste which has been, in history, filled with many faces. Most recently, the Bajorans. In all the past truths and judgments committed upon me since I have been here, not once have they been able to state the proof that I ever, in my right mind (having been of late degraded since the loss of my daughter, but which I have forcefully regained as my only weapon against self-condemnation they fiercely desire I adopt) thought the Bajorans as a disgusting, untouchable race which would never advance, never come into their own as a species. In fact, I thought them more as children than a filthy caste---innocent children who would rise, rise up against the Cardassian government and prove that it was worth more than a group of slaves, criminals, and faith-blinded peasants.

Every race must in like manner claim independence. The Cardassians, in contrast, never did. And now we die...may I put forth rightfully so? Perhaps that is the Pah-Wraith speaking, the whipping-boy of the Prophets, with pried eyes and opened ears, and no recourse to void the senses when he is being fed abomination after abomination.

All I know is that I am down here, I exist---and, if it takes the next five millennia or the entire life of the Universe as shall come to pass, I will not submit.

BACK AT DEEP SPACE NINE...

Jake Sisko, regular writer for _The Starfleet News Service_, newest addition to the _Alpha Quadrant Observer_, and Editor-in-Chief of the _Deep Space Nine Chronicle_, found himself labelled as brazen and cowardly after the end of the war; brazen for having stayed at the station when it was under Founder/Cardassian rule, cowardly for the same reason. Rather than letting himself be defeated by labels, however, he found the contradiction all the more reason why it was imperative he understand the nature of humanoid thought in order to bring them the best stories possible, the stories that would catch the eye of the most cantankerous and the most generous of the reading pool. While it was true the races could be culturally far removed from each other, he'd noticed that the desire for news and gossip was pretty much universal.

The year since his father left had been eventful; notably, there had been a new President of the Federation elected, very surprisingly a human from Earth. There hadn't been a human President in fifty years, which was a long time, considering the very heart and soul of the Federation was Earth. But Rose Hascom had been born in San Francisco, her father a lecturer in history at both Starfleet Academy and Nash-Sierra University, and had grown up amongst intelligentsia of the social science sort. In keeping with tradition, she obtained a five-year degree in history (albeit at the ivy-league Bay University on the East Coast, not Nash-Sierra), and in twice the time as the usual cadet, also came to being inducted at the Academy. Hers were considered the almagam of all the best traits citizens were expected to have in the Federation: she had run on character, and she had won. "To be against uniting all possible races with the Federation is to be against a future Galactic Community, and hence for division and war. Those for war are those who are enemies of the Federation." Hence, to be for war was to invite war with a group that was fundamentally against war. Or so her logic seemed to run for Jake, who wasn't quite sure how he thought about the new President. But he kept those sentiments---possibly seen by others as being against community, compassion, and peace---to himself, and wrote as objectively as he could.

Also, Colonel Kira had become the Commander of Deep Space Nine, as deemed by the Federation, who had slowly begun to absorb Bajor into its group. Kira was seen as a major figurehead for this conversion; there were advertisements all over Bajor, especially in its larger cities where there was a greater population and hence more votes, about how the former Resistance leader had accepted the Federation as an enlightened form of government---hadn't she fought with a Federation Captain, side-by-side, one who was now apparently the Federation's 'ambassador' (many in the Federation still would not accept him as a god-like Prophet) to the immortal Keepers of Bajor? Did that not convince all that the fate of the Federation and Bajor was deeply intertwined; in fact, the fate of Bajor being dependent upon the future of the Federation?

Over the years, Jake had been hardening himself into the kind of skeptic that his father had never been, or his grandfather. His grandfather had been a godly man who left some things in the hands of the great Creator---hadn't He shown his power, in various forms, over the course of the history of mankind? Didn't things usually turn out the way they should? Weren't the morally superior Federation citizens slowly turning the heads of all kinds of races...first the Klingons, then the Romulans, then the Ferengi and, most recently, the shapeshifter Founders of the Gamma Quadrant? Even the Q had gone through a major reformation due to the influence of some very famous Federation captains, least of all was his own father. And of course his father was in his way, a godly man---Jake chuckled to himself. A bit of the wry wit of Garak had rubbed off on him, after all these years. Even after all he'd seen of the power of the Prophets, something nagged deep within him when he thought of what they could do, and why they would do it. Omniscient, omnipotent, immortal beings had always been a fascination to him. Why did some keep to themselves, while other immortal energy beings had their fingers---for good or bad---in every pie? What was in it for them? Or were they completely selfless, conforming to the ancient Buddhists' idea of the One and the existence/non-existence of their god?

Maybe he'd have a long talk with his father when he got back. _If_ he got back. At dinner the other week, he and Kasidy had talked about how he'd been gone for over a year now. A year and two months, that night. And while they agreed that they had expected to see Benjamin Sisko back before then, who knew what being inducted into a group of gods was like. Would he remember anyone on the mortal plane, no matter how close to him they'd been? But of course he would, and he would be coming back very soon. If Jake knew his father, he knew that he always kept his word. "Maybe a year, maybe longer," he had said to him, that night so long ago. But he said he _would_ come back, and that was what mattered. Plus the fact that his little sister, named Rebekka Ilene after Kasidy's mother and his own great-grandmother, had turned six months old just yesterday, and frankly looked up to Jake as she would a father, he being the only man in her life.

And who could deny the plump, happy creature, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and scanning rooms, people, everything she saw with a preternatural awareness? Jake hoped, before long, she would get to know and love her _real_ father. He could do the big brother thing just fine---he'd much rather leave fatherhood for later, if ever.

There was a beeping at his door. Incessant, at that. He didn't really want to answer it...he hated to be interrupted in the middle of his thoughts. But these were old thoughts, not new ones, that had been re-hashed too frequently to be of any use anymore as it was, so he allowed his visitor entrance.

A flustered Commander Kira walked briskly in. She was carrying a padd which she placed promptly before him. "Hi, Jake. Could you do me a very important, not-too-time-consuming, favor?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Kira laughed wearily. "Thanks. It's just the Bajoran and Federation government---really just the Federation now, I suppose---is requesting a press release on the most recent personnel changeover, and the upgrading of the station to Federation standards. I have all the technical details stored in the padd for you---could you whip together something pretty for them? It doesn't have to be long, just a couple thousand words. I just don't seem to have the time anymore to do this kind of thing---I have enough on my hands in dealing with the frequent changeovers and upgrades, I certainly don't have to be writing about them!"

Jake smiled sympathetically. Considering how many officers had been assigned here and then re-assigned to other places in the last three months, as well as the upgrades---new quarters in the habitat ring, technological upgrades for the whole station, revamping of security, arming, not to mention a whole host of other, smaller changes, he did not blame her for being a little frazzled. "Sure thing, Commander," he replied confidently.

She turned to leave, but right before she exited she whirled around and put her hand to her forehead. "Oh yes, and there was something else I needed to ask you to do. A couple of new officers arrived this afternoon. Young, fresh out of the academy. I guess this is a popular destination for either being trained, or for being beyond help---one is a science officer, a girl from the Luna Colony, out here to study the wormhole and the wormhole aliens. There's something about her story that I'm forgetting...I'm sure I'll remember it as soon as I leave. And the other is a quarter-Vulcan, the rest Risan---I know, I know, strange mix, I heard she's somewhat of a handful. Being bred for leadership is what I'm getting---former member of the Gold Squad, which, from what I infer, was the next generation of elite group after the Red Squad was lost on the _Valiant_ during the war. Do you mind showing them around? Just a general tour. I thought you wouldn't mind, since I've asked you before and you seemed more than willing..."

"No, of course I don't mind, Commander. I'd be delighted to show the young ladies around."

Kira laughed. "I thought I'd be able to count on you in that respect, Jake." She sighed, lingering before the doorway for a moment. "Jake..."

"Yes?"

"How are you doing? And Kasidy...I don't see her as often as I'd like. Any word---or visions, I guess---from your father?"

Jake smiled. Kira had a stolid belief that if one was connected in some way to the realm of the Prophets---through family, or even just a single vision---she were sure to be connected for life. He, however, didn't know if he believed that. "No, nothing yet," he replied.

"Oh. Just thought I'd ask. We all miss him, here."

"So do I."

IN KIRA'S OFFICE

It was easy, sometimes, with the day-to-day jumble of life at the station, to forget who had been there before. To forget the struggles that had been fought and won; to forget the people who had been loved and died; to forget the friendships, and more meaningful relationships, that were made.

Time to time she'd get a note from one of her old friends---a brief 'hello' from Miles O'Brien, or a longer message from Keiko, with whom she liked to keep closely in touch in order to be updated on Kirayoshi's latest acts of mischief (Keiko proclaimed that sometimes she wondered if Kirayoshi didn't actually have a bit of Kira in him, considering the abnormally high energy levels he possessed); Julian would sometimes call her, which she thought was odd, and rattle on and on about what he was researching at the time, usually in highly technical language and always for too long. She sensed that he was lonely---why? He had Ezri Dax, surely...but somehow, Kira knew that it had always been Jadzia Dax he was interested in and wanted, and he was willing to take Jadzia's ghost over no Jadzia at all.

Other than Jake, Kasidy, little Rebekka, and occasionally Quark (whom she didn't like to converse with often, since he insisted upon talking about Odo with her, and inevitably asked each time whether or not she had heard from him), there were no other people in her life. The officers came and went so quickly---and most of the government officials she dealt with were all about business, and wouldn't sit to share a ratkajino without trying to make some sort of alliance, trade agreement, concession or deal. She sighed. If anyone around here was lonely---

But she didn't have time to be. Goodness knows, she didn't have time to be sitting here lost in her thoughts, doing nothing proactive, yet here she was. It was difficult for her to be lonely---even when she was on solitary missions for the Resistance, or found herself cornered in some Cardassian jail or stuck, having to hide undercover in some work-camp for months on end, she always felt like she was part of something, part of a group of people that was greater than she was alone. That was the kind of companionship she had known all her life; and when the Occupation ended, she found herself somewhat lost without a cause to attach herself to...that is, until the Emissary came along.

But even he was gone, and for who knew how long? And in what capacity? Ostensibly he was training to become a Prophet---at least, that's what everyone assumed and what the Kai and other holy officials had concluded.

Maybe it was because of all this, but her dreams had been getting strange, erratic. She would even find herself slipping into one of them during the day---as if her intense exhaustion sent her into a state of half asleep/half awake, being roused only by a sharp sound or force of will, often not even realizing that she wasn't fully aware until some strange image would test her powers of logic, disappearing as she snapped back into the waking world.

It would end, hopefully, once this final changeover was made. The officers Jake was escorting about the station weren't the only new ones---but the others were seasoned veterans, carefully picked by her after being initially weeded through by the Federation Captain assigned to be a go-between on DS9 (Kira didn't particularly care for Captain Maltai, a full Betazed who probed much more deeply into her and everyone's personal affairs much moreso than she desired in somebody in his capacity, but she had to put up with him).

The veteran officers weren't the dregs of the Federation, although they weren't the best, and some had spotty records of rebellions and threatened court-martials which moved them down from the higher positions they could have gotten, considering their intelligence and skills. She hoped that once they were better used to life on DS9 things could possibly get back to normal.

_Alaim Dukat_

She came again to me, just now. It took all my power of will to turn her away, to not look at her, to pretend that I couldn't hear her sympathies, her pleas, her demands. It is the worst form of torture they could procure for me---benevolent beings!

If only the Bajorans understood what I have come to understand, however long I've been down here. Who knows, though---with the way they can warp space and time, there may not be any Bajorans anymore...and, I laugh, perhaps that would mean no more Federation! But there is a role I'm to play in all this yet. They would not be sending her, and other apparitions, to me if they wanted to let me simply rot. I'm sure that I would not have been kept alive in the first place, and would have gone to whatever dim nothing Winn was sent to. I cannot repress a feeling of illness at her memory---funny how one can still know illness, although he is not technically corporeal. The moment I was tossed into those flames by the newest soldier of the Prophetic ranks the madness that had laid upon my brain like a thick shroud following Ziyal's death was lifted.

I know now that that madness, brought on by my own grief, was nurtured, grown, and distorted by them. And that is why they continue to send her to me...the apparition of my daughter, looking as she did before she died, to haunt me and keep me in their power.

But it will not work; and as of late they have doubled and re-doubled their efforts, invading my consciousness with two of her, three of her, all grasping for the same information, all pushing and pulling and---it will not work! They do not know the kind of man they are going up against! A man who has nothing to lose. A man who isn't out for anything...except naked justice.

There was much that I learned in the time those power-hungry abominations possessed me; being possessed, of course, I was certain that I was in the right, certain that what I was doing was sane, logical, in the best interest of myself, Cardassia, Bajor, and the Alpha Quadrant. Looking back I know that it was all a setup. Oh yes, press your minds against me, commit my body to whatever physical torture you desire, and my mind to whatever emotional: you do not want me to think what I now think, but you cannot stop it. In all that you've tried to control, it has been hardest to control the mind, hasn't it? That is why you needed me here, in your jail. And I know there is something important about me, something that you haven't revealed. But you will. No force, no entity, no other being can match the strength of a solid will. Down here, solid will is all I have left.

"Alaim! My little boy, what are you doing, all filthy in this cave? Come out, Alaim, it's time for supper."

I stared at what appeared to be my mother, as I remembered her from my childhood. She was a good, caring mother---very unlike the portrait of a Cardassian matriarch. She was at the end of bearing years when I was born, and I was to remain the youngest of my siblings; she had told me once, as a teenager, shortly before she died, that she had raised my older brothers and sisters the traditional way. With me, however, she was old enough to see the hollowness in bearing children and sending them off, and she decided that she wanted to keep me as her special pet, her last child, her only emotional legacy. My father was very much against this, and I was a big point of contention in their marriage. My father was a proud man; I was always trying to live up to what his idea of me should be. He told me often that although I was the youngest, I was the most intelligent and capable, and so should far outshine my brothers' positions in the military, and my sisters' accomplishments in culture and art. My mother engendered a sense of free thinking that I would have never gotten without her guidance and love, and it impressioned my personality greatly. If you give those you love support, and allow them to make their own mistakes, but never, never give up on them, no matter what they do...they will love you, and be better people for it.

Like I tried so hard to be with Ziyal...

Stop. This is another way of getting at you. But I am weary of ignoring them, saying nothing...so far, it hasn't gotten me out of this prison of thought, these firy deeps. I turned to her. "What do you all want, anyway? What is it that you need from me in order to advance your cause? You've got the Bajorans wrapped up in your little spell, and now you've got your precious "Sisko." I'm dead weight to you; cut me loose and scramble to order about the daily lives of the Bajoran faithful, watching carefully what they eat and drink and how many times they mumble to you during the day. I will not help you in these tasks; what then could you possibly---"

The words halted in my throat.

That was what they were after. My help. Of course! They didn't want to torture me for the sake of torturing---to much time, too much energy, too much attention when there were Bajoran children to awe.

The apparition of my mother approached me, and knelt gently to my level. I had long since stopped standing: for a while (minutes? weeks? years) I refused to be prone, but leaned now against a rock wall, with my knees drawn up off of the ground, and my arms draped on top of them, hands hanging limply. "Alaim, my pet, my youngest boy," she began sympathetically, in very good imitation of how my mother would have actually said it. But there was a quality to her voice, a calculating edge, which my real mother would have never employed. "You were so good with your children. Surely, the youngest ones were so far displaced from you that they were barely your own...but Mekor and Ziyal, they were the pride of your heart. And, during the Occupation, you said many times that you believed the Bajoran people were your children...and you really did believe it, didn't you?"

My expression was hard. I did believe it, at the time. My mother had been the only Cardassian I knew who held the unique belief that the Bajoran people were children to be cared for, a savage, ultra-religious race that had to be protected from themselves, but also allowed, from time to time, to have expression and think freely. It was dangerous, to---

"---let them think _too_ freely, though. And for a little Cardassian boy to think too freely, hmm? After all, your father was right; you needed a traditional position, a position of power and responsibility in the government, just like he had. You were a good son, Alaim. You made me---and continue to make me---very proud. You are finally growing up into what I always believed you could be: a good father, not only of your own children and selfish interests, but of a whole race, a whole group of races, a whole Galaxy of people. Isn't that what you were meant to be, Alaim? Isn't that why you were born just at the right time to be a powerful Gul in the Cardassian Occupation: so that you could have the power to rule a people, having the experience that hard work and punishment, as well as rewards, were necessary to grow any group of children...even if they numbered in the billions...or trillions?"

I did not speak. I could not; I dared not. They had given in; the grief I felt for Ziyal and my guilt accompanying her death had not gotten them anywhere. So they had decided to employ an honesty, of sorts.

The Occupation was training. It was all just a game---a game centered around me!---meant only to hone my dictatorial skills. Every situation since then, every chance at power---I had been given it, easily, openly. Every shot at leadership---handed, awarded, deemed. All just war games. How far back had they been involved? Had they been controlling my father, when he pushed me into the military; or my mother, when she spoke of the Bajorans as children to be fathered; the very act of my conception; my whole family line, as far back as can be seen, so that I would be produced in genetic concordance with their plan?

She spoke. Gently...reassuringly.

"You are the Dukat. You are of Cardassia. You are with Us, now."

ON THE PROMENADE

"...and you can get anything you want here, if you're willing to pay. I know, it's not the Federation way of things, especially lately with the small shops and restaurants being converted from money to meal-credits back home, but that kind of thing wouldn't work out here. Too many species meshing together to implement a large-scale collective trade-structure based on need."

"Please," replied the Vulcan-Risan, who had watched him scornfully from the minute she set eyes on him. "Neither Risa nor the Luna Colony have adopted the so-called 'anti-greed' policies of the Progressive movement within the Federation. Risa would certainly cease to function; and things are a bit different on Luna than they are on Earth." With that statement she smiled coyly and very un-Vulcanlike at her companion, who smiled back.

Jake decided that these girls---uh, women, were going to be tough nuts to crack. The Vulcan-Risan was named Sirra Lafeau; she had glowing, golden skin, dark eyes and red, curling hair. She was an average height, but the way she held herself made you think she was taller. She walked with a confident strut, as if she owned every bit of steel and carbonite her feet touched or eyes saw. She wore glittering, dazzling gems, something Jake didn't remember being popular on Risa: girls there tended more towards flowers and scented oils. But Sirra wore large golden stones in her ears, and had several studs in her nose. Piercings were exotic for a Starfleet officer; they were discouraged and sometimes commanding officers would order they be removed. So perhaps her jewelry was a status symbol for Lafeau more than anything else; she had been such an exemplary student and cadet that she had earned her right to wear it.

The other young officer was Nadia Sadykov, from Luna. She was big, like those from Luna tended to be; taller than average, and with soft, rounding curves that were accentuated by the musculature she needed to develop in order to stand the higher gravity most other planets and moons possessed. Most structures in Luna, in this advanced age, had artificial gravity that matched Earth's. However, there were farms and other industries that benefited from the low gravity and hence were kept in that environment; also, Luna had many interesting sports and other entertainment venues which used the natural light pull of its sphere to their advantage. However, Luna had been without artificial gravity for centuries, far longer than it had been invented. It was just too expensive to implement over an entire planet, even if the planet was a rather small moon as moons come. Only expensive restaurants and tourist attractions used it. As a result, over those centuries the people of Luna grew taller, as their spines were not crunched upon themselves as they would have been on Earth, they grew heavier and, interestingly enough, on average they lived about fifteen years longer, their bodies having for the most part escaped the ravages of 1 G gravity. Indeed, Luna was a popular destination for retirees.

Sadykov had a soft, round face with large eyes that were a very light blue. There was a scattering of freckles over her nose, and her hair was very pale and straight, cut shaggily below her ears as was the current style at the Academy. Overall, her face was endearing, certainly in contrast with hard, angular countenance of the shorter Lafeau. She was quiet, although Jake noticed by no means inattentive, as her eyes would often grow distant when he'd tell a story about something that had happened on the station while he had lived there, seeing in her mind what he spoke of. Jake found both of the young women intriguing, but somewhat trying, especially Lafeau. She had given him no peace since she stepped out of the airlock.

"I don't know much about Luna, truthfully," Jake commented. "I once knew a girl---a cadet from the famous _Valiant_ crew---who was born on Luna. She told me very few things about her world, mostly because it was an unspoken rule that the crew-members think of the war and duty alone. She made it sound beautiful, though." He smiled winningly at Sadykov, who half-smiled back at him.

"Jaaake! Jake, my boy," called Quark, who was buzzing happily towards them. Fresh meat to impress, and possibly divest! thought the busy little Ferengi. "Or my young man, you're certainly not a boy any longer, is he, ladies?"

Jake shook his head and laughed at the Ferengi. He never took offense to his overtures. "What can I do for you, Quark?"

"What can you---why, you can introduce me to your lady friends. I'm guessing they're new to the station, since I haven't seen them around before---and officers, by the look of those ugly uniforms---not that they look ugly on you, ladies, the both of you could make a Breen vorpskin coat look attractive." Lafeau, who had seen many, many vacationing Ferengis on Risa, raised her eyebrow contemptuously at him. Sadykov looked somewhat stunned. Jake rushed in to rescue them, but Lafeau beat him to it.

"I am Ensign Sirra Lafeau, from Risa, and this---" she gestured to Sadykov. "---is Ensign Nadia Sadykov, from Luna. To save you time, I'll just let you know now that there's nothing here I think Nadia would be interested in. She doesn't drink, gamble, whore, steal, or amuse herself in holosuites. However, I do several of those activites---we'll just forget which, for now---and if you could give me a quick overview of your facilities, I would be much obliged." She turned briefly away from a gasping Quark, to face Jake. "Thank you for the tour, Mr. Sisko. I'm sure Quark would be more than happy to show me the grid software which would indicate the location of my quarters, and I will show myself there. And Nadia," she continued, facing her friend with a softer expression. "See you tomorrow at seven-hundred for breakfast in my quarters, right? She's the perfect person to wake a body up in the morning, Quark, I tell you," she continued on as she stepped away from them with the Ferengi. "Not that I've ever had much trouble. I have more energy than a Klingon tauk-bird." Her voice trailed off as they moved farther away.

Sadykov sighed. "Don't mind Sirra, Jake---I can call you Jake, right? Mr. Sisko is so strange after spending years using military designations---it's that Vulcan bit of her that makes her so wild and impatient."

The started walking away from Quark's. Jake thought he'd take her to Ops---they didn't have the chance to stop there before they visited the Promenade. "I thought Vulcans were---"

"Controlled, logical, unemotional, restrained? Only when taught to be that way. And I guess if she had had any more Vulcan in her than she does, she would have had to go through that kind of training in order to be able to interact with anybody else and not tear them or herself apart. Vulcans really are the most emotional species, by far, that we know of. If it wasn't for their tradition of controlling themselves they would have never become a civilized people; they would probably still be living in caves, hording territory and wives like animals. Ancient Vulcan is a fascinating subject, one that I read about briefly but never had the time to go into in depth. There are just too many interesting subjects out there, Jake."

In Sadykov, now that she actually spoke, Jake found a serious, contemplative person; not like the shrinking, shy butterfly he had expected her to be from her silence. And, when she spoke of the Vulcans and their traditions, a quiet passion---the passion for understanding, and for learning---shone attractively from her eyes. Jake's smile softened. In her he might find a friend, someone who would understand his erudition and maybe even match it. "So Ensign Lafeau has had no emotional training at all, is what you're saying?"

"That's right. And it shows. I'm always expecting to be informed one day that she got herself injured or killed in some stupid argument or in some shady situation, but she manages herself well enough. Though she certainly does throw everyone else around her for a loop." She laughed. "I'm used to it. She doesn't even seem strange to me, anymore."

Jake look troubled. "How could she be involved in 'shady situations' and not get herself into trouble with her commanding officers? Certainly a Federation officer can't get away with committing---unlawful activities."

"Oh, she never does anything technically wrong. She's very good at investigating the laws of the culture or place she's in and pushing them to their utmost limits, whatever they might be. She's never stolen anything, or assaulted anyone. Don't worry about her. She is too invested in her future and her career to mess it up in any way."

Jake was silent for a moment, and stole a quick glance at Sadykov. What he saw surprised him: in her face was a bitterness, even a kind of contempt. For Lafeau? For himself? Oh, you dope, he thought. Here you are, asking her question after question about Lafeau, without ever asking about herself. And, as if she were reading his thoughts, she remarked, "You know, sometimes I wonder why I allow her to keep hanging around me. I've tried, in the past, to cut myself off from her, to ignore her calls and messages, to avoid her physically. But it never works. Do you know," an ironic smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "I tried to get myself assigned to Deep Space Nine alone, without Sirra? I placed myself on the list to be considered at 200 hours on a Wednesday, got interviewed Thursday afternoon, and when I showed up for my transport on Saturday morning, who do you think was waiting there for me, with that ugly, orange-metallic bag slung over her shoulder? 'You gave me a run for my latinum,' she said. She told me she knew I had gone somewhere when she woke up Wednesday morning, and it didn't take her long to find out where it was. So now we're here, together." She blushed, embarrassed, at Jake's intense interest. "I don't know why I said all that, I've never told anyone about my attempts to---escape---Sirra. Didn't you say you were a journalist or something?"

"Yes, something like that," Jake rejoined, laughing.

"It must be the art of persuasion you've honed during your career making me say such things."

The laughed together, and exchanged smaller pleasantries on their way to Ops. Sadykov met a hassled-looking Commander Kira with much awe; apparently she had researched the career of her commanding officer a good deal. Then, while she was being shown some of the most general operations that took place there by a junior-grade Lieutenant, Kira took Jake aside.

"So, Jake, I thought there were going to be two of them."

"Yes---the other we, uh, dropped off at Quarks. She said she would give herself a tour after she had a little respite there."

"I hope that includes introducing herself to me. I had some misgivings agreeing for her to come here, but Maltai wouldn't leave me alone on the subject. Seems like either those people at the Academy have big plans for her, or they want to get rid of her. I'm anxious to find out what _she_ thinks on the subject." Kira sighed. "And what about Sadykov? She seems attentive, intelligent. She sure is giving Lt. Yarik a glare, though. What's her deal?"

"Sadykov seems stable, self-interested, and motivated. She's got a good sense of humor, and is very well-spoken. Seems to an independent kind of person. I like her." As he spoke he watched the tall girl led around by the rather long-winded Yarik. For some reason, he was sure she was already well-versed on the equipment the Klingon was showing her. He could imagine her curling up with a Cardassian technical manual on some quiet evening while Lafeau was off galavanting.

"Yes, I can see you like her, Jake. Surprising, I thought you'd go for the one with a little more personality. Shows what I know. All right, you can get back to your writing---I'm sorry for keeping you from it, but you did a great favor for me."

"Sure thing, Commander, I don't mind at all."

"Ensign!" she called, as she turned towards Sadykov. "Would you like to meet with me in my office for a moment?"

"Of course, Commander," she replied softly, her expression serene.

JALANDA CITY---BAJOR

"Of course, Minister Bolka, we'll get on that right away. Most of all, I think, we want to you feel like the Federation is on your side in every matter, that you can count of us to assist you in things---too small---for Bajor to have done on its own. And you will have all your own officials at the posts of decision and power, with our people just around to offer advice, and to remind you of protocol---little things, really, like the chain of command, mission structures, nothing important."

The stood outside a restaurant, one that Bolka frequented when he had matters like these to attend to. One always felt much more at ease over lunch or drinks, than one felt in some office or, at the very extreme, in the meetings religious officials felt they needed to attend as well. The First Minister was away in San Francisco, meeting with President Hascom, for the next two weeks, and Bolka had been assigned to take care of his regular duties while he was away. Bolka had grumbled---San Francisco would be kind to the First Minister, with its gardens, entertainment, all free---while he was stuck talking to administrators. It gave him a headache.

He exchanged farewells with the Federation official, and watched him hail transportation, probably back to his hotel. Bolka turned and walked down the street. When he came to the fifth alley, he turned in. Third door, black rim, he chanted to himself. He knocked quickly, three irregular staccato beats, and waited while he was scanned. The swung in silently, and he was met by Vedek Antwal Gorgin. Time for his next appointment.

"Okay, so why the panicked tone, Gorgin? That's a nice kind of message to wake me up with. Do you know how many of those Federation flatheads I had to bump out of my schedule to get a free afternoon? And they weren't happy about it. I can't just go skipping off to wherever I feel like now that _he_ has left me with the full workload," Bolka complained sulkily, as the Vedek calmly hung up his vest, and lit a few candles. "And I'm certainly not always at _your_ beck and call. In other words, Antwal, this better be important."

The Vedek smiled in amusement at his companion, whose complaints he had long ceased to take seriously. He knew that if he called Bolka, Bolka would come; if he told Bolka he must do something, Bolka would find a way to do it. Bolka, for all his atheist posturing, was deeply afraid of death and the supernatural. The mix made for a powerful influence on Antwal's part. "There have been some---changes in the flow of power from the Prophets. Some disturbances," he answered quietly, offering Bolka a chair, on which he promptly sat. Antwal placed himself on a soft cushion on the floor, crossing his legs nimbly.

There was a pause. "So, what does that mean? You get a few flickers in the lights of the Orbs...so what? It has happened before."

"Always followed by an important event; a calamity, or a visitation."

"Okay, so one of us is going to get possessed by a Prophet, is that what you're saying? Hell, they already have Sisko. You think they'd calm down for a little while. Wasn't the Prophecy just completed, at any rate? We should be having peace and prosperity for a 'long era.' It doesn't follow."

"No, Minister, it doesn't follow." The Vedek fell silent.

"So...what is it you think is going on? I'm assuming you wouldn't have sent for me so urgently if you didn't have _some_ idea, Gorgin. You do like to show off your ideas."

The Vedek smiled at him, but his expression was more like an animal baring its teeth. "I have gone through a list of explanations and have reached some tentative conclusions, yes. The explanations could be thus: there is another disturbance on the mortal plane, either on the individual or racial level---a war or a Pah-Wraith possession, in other words; or there is a disturbance on the immortal plane---a conflict between rival immortals, the Pah-Wraiths and the Prophets.

"The first explanation I dismissed. The Council keeps a close eye on such matters---any race declaring war against Bajor or the Prophets, we would know about. Secondly, the Prophecy states that the force of the Pah-Wraiths will have been contained to the immortal plane indefinitely if the Prophets were victorious in the Reckoning, which they were. So no more possessions."

"So you're saying that there's some kind of war going on between the Pah-Wraiths and the Prophets, in the Celestial Temple? All these invisible gods going after one another with us mortals down here, blissfully unaware of it?"

Antwal sighed. "Something like that, Minister. Except for a couple of things...firstly, there are no Prophecies pertaining to this 'war,' so to speak, ever occurring, at least not in the near future. There is some mention of 'the last gasp of the Pah-Wraiths' some millennia in the future, but we're certainly not at that point yet. Secondly, Bajor and Bajorans, as you well know, are tightly wound together with the fate of the Prophets. It is only a matter of time until we, down here, become aware of what is going on up there. Then the bliss is over."

IN THE FIRE CAVES

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, Dukat?"

I laughed. Nothing before had ever seemed so funny. I just couldn't stop laughing...

"This isn't going to work, you know. You've been defeated. You're dead to the rest of them. Even if we were going to send you back, we weren't going to send you back looking like your old self!" my 'mother' deigned. The 'Sisko' walked up to me, closely, staring me down. Then Kira appeared, as if walking through a crevice in the wall.

"They're both right, you know," she commented, coldly. "Whatever you thought was you is dead. No one is going to remember you, no one is going to care about you. Any honors you held, any positions, any esteem in the Cardassian government---and there isn't much left of Cardassia, by the way, thanks to you---is gone. You can never return as the man you were."

"That is assuming," I replied. "being honored by others is more important to me than anything else. After being imprisoned down here, who knows if that is true anymore! Honor, esteem---they are empty promises given by empty eyes and taken away without warning...because there was nothing there to begin with, you see! You know what matters to me more? A bottle of _kanaar_. Seeing my son grow up. Reading books. Warning everyone against your so-called 'graces,'" I couldn't stop but choke in a little bit of laughter at that remark. I was giddy. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so open. But I got the impression they were probing for something and would ignore the flak until they reached what they were looking for.

"Dukat, I'm tired of your games!" boomed a well-crafted Sisko. "Why are you trying so hard to retain your individuality? When you fell into the pit, you were supposed to be defeated. You were supposed to give yourself up to us, to mold and to fill with our Grace, like a vessel. You were to be the perfect vessel. Don't you want our Grace? You would have Power beyond your conception. You were supposed to want Power!"

"Ah, but I was not crushed...I was not defeated! And that ruined your plans, eh?"

They were all silent for a moment. Silent, like motionless puppets, waiting for the next pull of the string. Their eyes, the eyes of the people I had known and respected, were empty. If I hadn't long ceased to recognize them as anything but pawns of the Prophets it may have been disconcerting.

It happened all I once. I was thrown, tossed from wherever it was I had been. The flames licked about me, their fingers dove into my brain and tried to probe it. Of any assault they had wrecked upon me in the past, this was by far the worst. In their fervor to control me, their plan became clear...all of it, laid out for me, every wretched detail! It was apparent that they only risked exposing themselves because they thought this attack was certain to succeed.

And indeed, I started beginning to feel as if I was being pulled apart at the seams. Ziyal was by Damar and died in my arms, many times. Kira laughed righteously, hate burning in her eyes. Bajorans perished, starving, dirty and miserable. Naprem looked at me accusingly, for treating her as a queen yet working others to death. My father repeated, "All that matters is how far you go---and, until they all bow down before you, Cardassia and Bajor alike, you will have failed." My mother, "Oh Alaim, only one check-mark in the Theory of Immortality? To be a leader these days, you must lead gods as well as men."

Lead gods as well as men.

Why had I gotten that single mark, anyway? It was my thesis; every course at the Academy on Cardassia Prime would conclude in an oral presentation of knowledge. I had worked very hard on that thesis: immortals had fascinated me. I worked so hard that I was coming up with theories I could not find in the books and papers of others. So hard that all I thought of was immortality, that it rooted itself in my mind and has, since, been a mocking, impossible desire. But what was that paper about? It seemed so important for me to remember, just then. Ah, yes: it was a treatise on the flaws found in immortal societies. Some immortals became mad, the endless years satisfying every desire yet in the same sense leaving them with nothing to do, nothing to think about. Sometimes, in their boredom, they turned to mortals for entertainment. To mortals it was all new---everything was new. Some immortals fought within themselves; all had questionable motives, yet were posed almost without fail as benevolent species. The professor had marked down my thesis because I had concluded that immortals were as flawed as mortals, and could be potentially more dangerous. My ideas were considered irreverent and unrealistic.

They all pounded at my brain, ceaselessly. Oh yes, they were getting close...they got very close to unlocking me and spilling out the contents that were Dukat, spilling them irrevocably, for them to gather back up and rearrange into whatever kind of leader, follower, or conspirator they saw fit. But there was another flaw to these immortals...there was something else that I had concluded, something else that was written during a very late night after a string of late nights doing nothing but research on mortal-immortal interaction. Something my father had said reminded me of it vaguely..."To control your own fate, Alaim, you must be able to control other people; or rather, you should never place yourself in a situation where they can control you. That means being honest: never break a law or you will be placed in jail. That means having knowledge: to know your enemy is to have control over your enemy. That means having physical and technological prowess: to be able to fight an enemy is to have the ability to ward off an attack."

Yes...and I had thought of those words, that late night so long ago. They had haunted me, because it seemed that no mortal could protect himself against the control of an immortal, especially one of the many that had control over space and time. But my research had turned up little clues: Picard's interaction with the famed 'first' Q; accounts of a few interactions between specific Bajoran disbelievers and the Prophets; old accounts of Federation interaction with omnipotents, where they came out on the winning side, always. And why was that? Why was that...

It came to me.

And I was being turned inside out. Stretched, pulled, remolded, balled up, twisted around. Desperate attempts, last attempts, to pull myself out of myself. But it did not matter. I no longer resisted, and they could not find a way to tear me apart.

A great cry split this plane of space. I flickered through millennia. I was sent into centers of blasting suns, I was subjected to lifetimes of torture and struggle, I was flogged and maimed and died, many, many times. The full extent of the powers of these strange aliens was used in that moment. All of their race focused only on me---even Sisko, I could feel like tickle of his mind like the pressure of a familar disruptor in my back.

It was only a moment. Less than a moment. And it was an eternity.

And I prevailed.

I felt fear pervade the space around me. So I was right...all those years ago, in my childhood, I had been right. They let go of me, dropping me quickly and decisively. It was not over; no one had challenged their immortality before, so they could not believe they had lost their control over me. They would be back, and I would be in their prison for a little while longer. But I had discovered the key to the armored door of my cell. I would play along for a little while, because I had seen their plan and I knew what was coming for everyone. I knew how they considered Bajor; I knew how they considered the Federation; I knew, really knew why they had their fingers in all these mortal pies.

How did I escape? Ah, the answer is devastatingly simple:

You see, my father had also said something else to me, when I was young, in the same vein of his above statements: "And remember, my boy, that if you believe in the rules of any one people you must be prepared to answer for your actions on their terms. But, of course, there isn't any reason why you should accept their terms in the first place...to play along is to hand them your conscience. All you have to do to win yourself from them is take it back."

(TO BE CONTINUED)


End file.
